Hunter has fished with some of the biggest names in fly fishing—but you’d never know it unless you asked.

“You find the fish you want and go after it,” he said, wading into the Snake River as the sun dipped low behind the mountains.

“That’s how they fish,” he added with a smile, pointing to a quiet bow in the river where time seemed to stand still.

Where you fish matters—but how you fish matters more.

Kneeling into the current, Hunter pulled a rock from beneath the surface, showing me a cluster of tiny flies clinging to its slippery underside.

“It’s part science,” he said. “But mostly—it’s determination. You’ve got to be willing to change your tactic in an instant.”

As the last light fell below the horizon, Hunter moved deeper into the water.
“You’ll have to tell me when it’s time to go,” he said. “Because I’ll be in here all night.”

I lifted my camera, clicked the shutter, and felt a peace I hadn’t known in a long time.

A River Runs Through It, I thought—the film that made me fall in love with fly fishing.

There in the river, knee-deep beside a man who knew its secrets, I watched him make his final cast— like an artist finishing a canvas with a single stroke of light.